Finding Gentleness

30 March 2016

(The scene: Starbucks. 5pm. My 13-year-old son
and I are set up with laptops, editing a shared Google document that contains
his upcoming speech. In typical just-became-a-teenager mode, he has zero…zero…attention span at present.)

Me: We’ve been here for an hour and you haven’t finished this
speech. Come on buddy.

Son: (types two words. Picks up a pencil to read “Ticonderoga” carved
into its side and sets it back down. Types something else. I look at my screen
and he’s just sent me two emoges. He looks across the table at me and smiles.)

Me: Seriously. I’m starting to get irritated. I need to get home
to make dinner.

Son: Mom, I’m trying to
think. I really am! Ok, I’ll try to
hurry.

(Minutes pass. Nothing
is added to the speech).

Me: This is ridiculous. Can you please just finish this? Why do
you keep looking everywhere but the computer screen? Can’t you just focus?
(This is somewhat of a rhetorical question.)

Son: (smiles and then types on his computer keyboard. The message
pops up on my screen: “I don’t think so”)

Me: I sigh, pack up my things and tell him with my “I’m over it”
mom eyes, “It’s time to hit the road.”

G

entle.

A dictionary would
describe it as ‘a person of mild temperament or behavior. Moderate in action,
effect, or degree; not harsh or severe.” I would describe it as something I
think I lose a little more each day.

And I’m desperately
trying to get it back.

Writer Mary Ann
Becklenberg said this: we are short on
others because we are frustrated with ourselves. And reading that was like
having a cast iron skillet smack me in the face. Holy shit that hurt.

It’s never easy to be
confronted with a shortcoming. It’s even harder when our own conscience is the
one doing the dirty work.

When I reflect on that
interaction with my son, I could easily justify my frustration. He was
disregarding my (justifiable) prodding. And I did have good reason to be
frustrated, feeling the urgency to cook, feed and clean-up before bedtimes.

But what bothered me
most about that hour at Starbucks (and too many more like it) is that really I
wanted to do a Homer Simpson strangle on my Bart. Internally, I was anything
but gentle in spirit. And although outwardly I think I passed the test of
displaying some level of gentleness, the irritation of my heart, mind and
spirit told the real story.

Kind, tender, sympathetic, considerate, understanding, compassionate,
benevolent, good-natured. These attributes are what I want to know myself for.
I have them in doses, at times. But I want them, in larger doses, to reside
throughout every molecule of my being.

Is there anything
stronger than possessing gentleness? To do so is to have character that is
consistent, reliable, and steady. A weak person cannot do that. Leo Rosten goes
as far as to say, “Gentleness is to be expected only from the strong.”

I have a small, but
ever-growing, list of people I admire. A few are bold. Adventurous.
Risk-takers. Achievers. Leaders. Others are what most would consider to be
quite ordinary. Predictable. Mundane, even. I began writing out their
characteristics a few months ago --- what was it I really admired in these people? The common denominator was
gentleness.

Paul Newman has been
my lifelong crush. No brainer. Those eyes. Lawd. His smile? Get outta town. I’ve watched old interviews he’s
given. He always avoided reactionary responses to questions. Instead,
you could almost see the mental step-back as he answered thoughtfully, gently,
and with wisdom. Not sarcasm, brashness or flippancy. And yet, Mr. Newman – in
all that blue-eyed glory- was a competitive racecar driver and swore like a
sailor. (Newsflash: Embodying gentleness of spirit doesn’t mean you forgo your spunk.)

So how do I embody
more of it? In a daily routine of deadlines, demands (both self-inflicted and
otherwise), travels, speeches and chasing dreams, how do I ease my soul back
towards gentleness of spirit? I listened to a podcast recently with a Hebrew professor
talking about repentance. The interviewer asked, “Isn’t repentance about making an abrupt change…the 180 degree turn?” In
my previous spiritual readings I have always been led to believe this, so I was
nodding my head in agreement as she asked the question. His response surprised
me. In essence he said, “Any slight turn
in the right direction will get you to a different destination.”

Yes. Yes!

Baby steps.

Striving for
improvement, not perfection.

My first baby step
back towards a gentle spirit is learning to be gentle with myself. Referencing
back to Becklenberg’s quote, I totally resonate with the truth that I lose
gentleness because internally my spirit is spinning. Being gentle with myself
is requiring me to let go of some expectations. Whether it’s to have dinner on
the table within a certain hour, have a proposal arrive in someone’s inbox
ahead of schedule (I error on the side of overachieving), make huge decisions
that I’ve let sit on the backburner, or reading my kids a book before bed each
night, I need to just chill the heck out on myself.

“How terribly hard many of us are on
ourselves. Our reactions, and manner of response, to our unpleasant
circumstances so often result in self-punishment administered in creatively
cruel ways.

And to what degree is the management of our
situations based upon an inability to lower self-expectations, as well as the
pervasive fear of losing ourselves?”

Mary Ann Becklenberg

My second baby step
towards gentleness is letting go. It’s the only way to truly free myself from
that internal spinning.

When my jeans won’t
button….let it go. (Hard one.)

When my business
meeting gets cancelled 15 minutes before….let it go.

When my husband checks
his phone in the middle of my story….let it go. (Verges on impossible.)

When my idea is
claimed by another….let it go.

When the cookies get over
baked…let it go.

When the coffee shops
blares b-side 70’s rock tracks at 6am…let it go.

When I can start
letting things go, then these daily frustrations however miniscule they may be,
no longer own me. They no longer reside in my belly to fester and then bubble
up to a moment of unreasonable irritability towards another.

I want to start moving
to a place of choice. To have the insight to see the implications and
consequences of all of my actions. And reactions. Not giving over to the angsty
feeling that arises because I feel I’m missing the mark.

Most people, including
myself, haven’t always been surrounded by gentleness. Which makes its power
even more visible when it’s present. Every day I’m turning my radius just a bit
more in the direction it needs to be headed. Just don’t ask me about it when
the third batch of cookies has burned. I’m nowhere close to that kind of
sainthood.